


Words to Live By

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Series: Paternoster Row: the spinoff [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 06:31:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1418446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gambler who never loses and dictionaries that change from day to day? Just another case for Jenny and Vastra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words to Live By

**Author's Note:**

> Picks up immediately after A Good Man Goes to War. This is the first 'proper' episode in the series (as opposed to a longer special), and most of the stories will be closer to this one in length. I'm shooting to put one out every Saturday.
> 
> As always, beta'd by my Best Beloved, imaginary_golux.

“I do hope that the Doctor finds what he's looking for,” Jenny says wistfully as River vanishes behind them. 

“Something besides glorious victory?” Strax inquires as they begin the walk towards their home. 

Vastra closes her eyes in quiet resignation. The Sontaran has been like this for the past day while they'd helped the Doctor sort out the aftermath of Demons Run. If he hadn't fought so bravely, she'd have let the Doctor take him home. “Family, Strax,” she says, tightening her grip on Jenny's hand as they increase their pace. She is eager to get home before someone notices their unusual appearance, Strax starts an interstellar conflict by declaring war on the East End, or both. Fortunately River had landed them in the small hours of the morning, and they are used to moving through the shadows. “Get some rest, my love,” she kisses Jenny on the cheek, “and you as well, Strax. We have had a trying few days behind us, and I expect work has piled up in our absence.”

***

Early the next morning—too early, Jenny grumps as she makes tea and eggs and toast—Doyle and Anaya greet them at the door. “I was just starting to get worried,” Doyle admits.

“I am afraid that our most recent absence was unplanned and urgent,” Vastra acknowledges as she sorts through the embarrassingly large stack of unopened correspondence which has piled up while they were away. “You know how the Doctor can be.” All three humans nod. While neither Doyle nor Anaya has had much contact with the Time Lord, even the shortest acquaintance reveals his manic, haphazard propensities. 

“How long has it been?” Jenny asks, Cockney accent dropping the h's untidily. “For you, that is. Just over a week for us, I think.”

“Closer to three days,” Anaya explains. “Don't worry, we've been keeping busy.”

“I've got another story off to the Strand,” Doyle says proudly.

“And the last sections of the dictionary you wanted came in,” Anaya adds, producing the heavy volumes and setting them on an endtable.

Vastra tosses her a few coins but quirks her eye-ridges. “I had thought I had asked Henry to run that errand.”

Anaya blushes. “He's been spending more time watching football matches and betting on them. Seems to be working well for him.” 

Jenny frowns. “Drove one of my uncles to ruin.” She had thought Henry more intelligent than to take to gambling, but then, teenage boys as a group are not renowned for their wisdom. 

“I, too, might wish a different occupation for young Henry,” Vastra allows. “Still, I feel that this may be a lesson which he must learn for himself.” 

Further discussion of the matter is momentarily tabled as Strax bursts into the room, still wearing his bright blue armor. “Identify yourselves, human scum, or be obliterated in the name of Sontar!”

“Strax!” Jenny rebukes him. “These two are friends.” Doyle and Anaya, shaken, introduce themselves. “Now apologize.” Her stare crushes any instinct to argue in Strax, and the Sontaran nurse mumbles an apology. 

A somewhat bashful Vastra gestures to Anaya, head in her hand. “Anaya, dear child, if you would be so good as to employ our usual tailor to produce several new sets of clothes for our new butler?..” Anaya giggles at the thought of the strange Strax in the role of a butler. “Jenny has often complained that the management of the house has become rather more than a one-woman task. If Westing complains, tell him that Strax is...Turkish. And somewhat mad.” She massages her forehead. “It is a blessing from the goddess that Westing is so discreet.” Custom hats with built-in veils to conceal her crests, men's clothes for Jenny's slim curves... Anaya nods and leaves to make the appointment. Doyle follows soon after, claiming that his practice needed his attention.

“If it's all the same, Madame,” Jenny says as she refills their teacups, “I should like to pay the football pitch a visit. Just to make certain there is nothing...untoward...about Henry's new habit.” She took a sip of her tea. “It is something of a change for him, Madame.”

“That is very true,” Vastra agrees. “Well, once we have finished this excellent breakfast, perhaps we will take a walk to the football pitch.”

***

“Here's that suit of clothes you wanted, Mr. Jones,” Henry says, turning over the hefty parcel. 

“And here's ten to put on Aston Villa for me—and one for yourself.” Jones tips his cap and ducks off into the crowd. Henry grins and pockets the money, glad that Jones had gone before he could see how far Henry's eyes had bugged out. A whole pound? To wager on such a heavy underdog? Wait until Bert and Moses hear about this. He turns and darts, carefree, through the crowd toward the betting booth, not getting very far before bumping headlong into his erstwhile employers.

“Ah, Henry! Fancy meeting you here?” Vastra offers.

“Yeah,” he replies, feeling a bit of trepidation. “Didn't figure you for the sporting types,” he pries, a hint of suspicion in his words.

“Jenny and I have just returned from an exhausting excursion and thought an afternoon of sport might prove a pleasant diversion,” she bluffs. The best lies are the ones that are true. “How have you been?”

“Great,” he says, fears evidently assuaged. “Been doing some odd jobs for a new friend of mine, Jones, while you've been out of town.” He grins and flashes the pound notes. “Pay is good, too.” He winks. “Maybe I'll cut you in on a tip or two one of these days. Guaranteed to be good.” With that, he slides away, back into the crowd.

“I fear, Jenny, that your worry was well founded,” Vastra says with a sigh. “Come, we should speak to whoever runs this establishment.”

***

“Here comes the bigshot,” hoots Moses. 

“Nothing says I have to share my spoils,” Henry replies, fist clenched. The three boys hold the stand-off for two beats before they all break into a hug. Henry grins; his elder brothers give him the stick sometimes, but family is family. 

“Come on, lay out the spread,” Bert says with a grin. “I've got to eat before I go—some of us do an honest day's work.” He looks at Henry just a bit suspiciously as bread and cheese and oranges pour out of his sack. Then he shakes his head. None of his business, after all. He didn't ask when that detective lady took him on as an assistant, and he wasn't going to ask now that he was working for some high-roller. 

***

“The name of the Veiled Detective opens many doors in London,” says Venters, the manager of the organized betting. “Including some that we might prefer remained closed to Scotland Yard. Savvy?”

“We know full well the value of discretion,” Vastra assures him. No need to trouble him with why.

“Now, about this Mr. Jones?” Jenny asks, producing a pencil and pad to take shorthand notes. Someday, Jenny thinks, she'll have a typewriter that she can take with her. That will be nice. 

Venters shakes his head. “He first appeared a few weeks ago. Strange clothes, strange habits, strange accent.” His nose crinkles. “American, though I wouldn't stake more than a pound on it. Places a bunch of bets, here and there. Always wins.”

“Why not ban him?” Jenny raises an eyebrow.

“Thought about that.” Venters rolls his eyes. “He's got a lad placing half his bets as it is. One bloke making perfect bets I can handle. Piss him off and maybe he brings in fifty lads. That I can't afford. So I let him have his fun, least until I can figure out what he's doing, or if he's just the luckiest man alive. If you can puzzle this out, I'll make it worth your while.” He nodded out his office window. “In fact, there he is.” He gestured towards a tall, middle-aged man with straight dark hair. 

“Shall we chase him, Madame?” Jenny asks.

“As I was telling our client, discretion may serve us better in this case. Let us simply follow him for now, and observe him while he thinks himself unobserved.”

“Do you think he's an alien?” Jenny whispers excitedly as Venters's door closes behind them.

“Facts first, then theories,” Vastra reminds her. They shift to put a vociferous street preacher between them and their quarry. They stand still, keeping half an eye on Jones on the pretense of first listening to the rambling sermon on the evils of gambling and drinking, then on thumbing through the tracts the preacher offered them. 

“Nothing is as perilous to your immortal soul as drink!” he thunders. “Nothing save the evil of wagering,” he continues. “Gamble not with eternity! Find peace of mind in the bliss of Heaven!” They both breathe a quiet sigh of relief when Jones begins to move. Neither of them are overly fond of sermons to begin with, but when the preacher in question chooses to cover his lack of innovation and intelligence with volume and repetition, even the most devout would begin to squirm. 

“Wonder if he'd sing a different tune if he knew who we really were, what we did.” Jenny allows herself a chuckle once they get out of the evangelist's hearing.

“I doubt he would even grant that I have a soul,” Vastra says, laughing. “Ancient and from under the earth as I am.” 

The two detectives maintain an easy pace and a safe distance, but always keeping Jones in sight until he reached a small house.

“Now what?” Vastra muses.

Jenny grins and indicates the tracts they hold. Leading the way, she raps politely on Jones's door. “Have you got a moment to let Christ Jesus into your heart?”she asks, face a model of innocence. Jones slams the door in their faces. “Well, that was needlessly rude. You see anything?”

“Barely a glance.” Vastra shakes her head. “But I did think I heard some strange mechanism operating within.” She tosses her tract into a rubbish bin. “Come, my love, we had best discuss the day's events and make plans.”

***

Vastra sprawls across the couch, draping herself across blankets, pillows, and Jenny's legs so that her face is nearest the light and heat of the fireplace. Her eyes skim over definitions and etymologies as Jenny's fingers skim over her calves. So many words in this strange, new language, she muses. 

“Is there anything you require, madame?” Strax manages to sound both irritated and subservient at the same time. “Tea? Coffee? Plasma grenade?” Vastra glances over her shoulder and stifles a laugh at a Sontaran warrior in a suit and tie as Jenny shakes her head, hand over her mouth. “Very well then.”

Vastra, now chuckling audibly and having lost her place, returns to the top of the page. “Jenny,” she blinks twice in succession. “I believe this page in my dictionary has changed since I last looked at it.

Jenny flips through several pages. “Mine too, madame! Strange little tweaks and added secondary definitions, mostly.” She pauses. “But why? And how?”

“You must remember, we are time travelers now.”

Jenny nods with comprehension. “Someone traveled through time to change the dictionary, but we can remember how it used to look. The first edition of this dictionary,” she flips to the front pages, “only came out a few years ago. These are the last sections of that first edition.” She closes the book and looks at it thoughtfully. This time travel nonsense was a bit much sometimes. “If you changed this dictionary, you could influence anyone who spoke English!”

“Fortunately, it is not quite that simple,” Vastra observes. “The way a word is used by living, breathing people is what truly matters.” She sits up and brandishes her own volume. “For instance, if I told you that this book was a person, would you believe me?”

Jenny laughs. “Of course not.”

“Even if I told you that the book said it was a person?”

“Well, that's a bit too far, madame. But what if I was trying to convince someone that you were a person?” Jenny kisses her on the cheek. “I know what I think, but being able to look at a book might go a long way for someone else.”

“You are very sweet, my love, and, as you so often are, correct.” Vastra runs a claw down Jenny's arm. It is astonishing the insight that one so young could provide. “Assuming that the actor is not merely capricious, someone who trades in nuance, then. Expensive nuances.”

“A lawyer, perhaps? Or a businessman?”

“Perhaps, though I think the businessman is the better choice. A lawyer may have many clients, but a businessman need only serve himself.” Vastra frowns. “And from the future. You do not think that...” She trails off as Henry enters the room. “Yes?” she asks blandly, filing those thoughts away for later.

“I don't like that you're poking around Mr. Jones's place,” he says abruptly. When he had learned about their snooping, in fact, he had been furious. Luckily he'd had a nice, long walk to cool down. “Didn't think you'd mind a bit of sport.” 

“I certainly have no objection to gambling,” Vastra says, voice carefully even. She was not particularly worried for her safety if Henry should decide to attack her, but the emotional wounds could be painful.

“Then what's the matter? You just want to keep me under your thumb?”

“I assure you, Henry, that if an honest method—and I include gambling and gaming in that litany, though as Jenny can testify, they can destroy your life—of bettering your station presented itself, I would provide you with any assistance you requested within reason. While I would regret the loss of your exemplary service, I would not stand in the way of one whom I esteem a friend.” Her eyes narrow. “But the fact remains that you are not gambling.”

Henry stumbles over his words and his anger and Vastra rallies a philosophical argument as just as Jenny holds up a hand. “D'you play chess, Henry?” She winks at Vastra, hoping, as she often does, to impress. “Been reading a bit of Socrates in me spare time, Madame. Trust me.” The Silurian nods, evidently intrigued.

“A bit,” Henry says. “Anaya's been teaching me.”

“I play chess too,” Jenny confides. “Better than Madame does, not that she'll admit it.”

“Investing such power in the clergy is irrational, particularly on the battlefield! The army would be much stronger if the pawns were invested with a superior arsenal!” Jenny gives Henry a knowing look over Vastra's complaints.

“The point is, I could beat you most times,” Jenny says. “Maybe even ten in a row. But not every time.” She shrugs and yawns. “It's late and I'm tired. I might make a mistake. Or you might pick up on some of my tendencies and beat me fair and square. If I offered you odds, and we made a wager, would we be gambling?”

“Yeah,” Henry says at last. Who bets on chess? He can't help but wonder. 

“But let's change it a bit. Let's say we're playing cards. Nothing fancy, just guessing what the next card to come up is. Let's say I peeked at the deck, I've got the whole list written down.”

“There'd be no way you could lose,” Henry says.

“Exactly. So we wouldn't be gambling anymore.” Jenny's smile grows when she watches Vastra smile at her, and watches her point dawn rather reluctantly on Henry. “I'd win every time, and I'd know it. I just want to make sure your friend hasn't peeked at the deck.”

“So you don't trust him?” Henry prods.

“You must understand,” Vastra says, cutting off a potential spat, “that we have yet to meet this Mr. Jones properly, and so we do not trust him as well as we might. You wouldn't want to lose your integrity over a few pounds, would you?” Henry leaves, silent, but thoughtful. Vastra exhales; she would prefer not to have to practice her diplomatic skills so close to home.

“Well, madame, that was a near thing,” Jenny observes. “Daresay they don't teach you how to handle time-traveling, mind-reading, future-predicting aliens in school.”

“No; the closest usual question might be the ethics of being a god: what may one do—and what must one do—if one had supernatural powers and perfect foresight. But we rarely discussed what to do when one had limited knowledge whose usefulness diminished every time you acted.” Vastra notes Jenny's curious look and continues. “If you were sent into the past, and I told you to prevent something from happening, then what would you do?”

“Depends what it was, madame.”

“But surely you would attempt something, correct?” Jenny nods. “Now, a god would presumably know what long-term effect his or her actions would have, but you would not. Why, you might have no effect at all, you might cause the very thing you attempted to forestall, or you might bring about something even more catastrophic.” Vastra reclines in her chair and closes her eyes. “Of course, we are hardly in any better a boat now, acting completely blindly with no sense of what effect this will have on our future selves.”

“Then we'd better hope we do well, then, madame.” 

***

“Game of chess?” Anaya asked as Henry plopped down into the chair opposite her. “Or just talk?”

“Just talk, I think.” He brooded for a moment before breaking the silence. “If you could have everything you wanted, would you take it?”

“Sounds too good to be true,” Anaya joked. Something dark passed over Henry's eyes. “Doesn't help that I'm not sure what I want,” she admitted. Least of all you, she thought to herself. Brave, dashing, fun...but prone to certain moods. And he hardly seemed to notice her in that way. Well, Rome wasn't built in a day. “Do I want a cozy cottage or a grand mansion? Work or travel? Family or independence?” That was rather more than she often let herself say, she realized, and sat quietly for a moment.

“Yeah, maybe that game of chess after all,” Henry says at last. Anaya hides her relief by fetching the chessboard. “Got some things I need to think about, so don't expect my best.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Anaya chides, but her smile lets him know she doesn't mind.

***

“Well, that's my little one in bed,” Allison whispers. “So, what new adventures have you been on, little sister?”

Nellie sighs and leans against Dennis, her current beau. “I'm worried about a friend of mine, Henry.”

“Oh?” Dennis asks, twitching just a bit.

“He's taken up gambling,” Nellie says, and Alison crosses herself. “I'd really thought he was a better sort than that.”

“Fellow places an occasional wager and all of a sudden he's not good enough for you?” Dennis asks bitterly. 

“Oh, no, I wouldn't say that,” Nellie continues. Though she would call Dennis's card-playing something more than occasional, herself, she rarely held it against him.

“Do you fancy him, then?” Dennis continues.

Nellie pales and sits up straight. “No, never, not like that,” she says, and truly means it. “Henry's very nice and all, but I don't look into his eyes like I do yours,” she pleads. Alison rather meaningfully does not leave.

“All the same, I don't want you spending so much time with him,” he says with a bit of a snarl. “Ain't ladylike.”

“Then I don't want to spend any more time with you,” Nellie decides firmly. “For you certainly are not a gentleman, and nowhere near as worthy of my time as he.”

Dennis spatters and stammers until Allison hauls him up from the sofa. “You heard my sister. Now get out of my home. And if you cause a fuss and wake my son, I will not be responsible for my actions. Begone!”

“Thanks, sis,” Nellie breathes as Dennis stalks out.

“Any time,” Allison replies. “Though I might wish you had better taste in men.”

Nellie sighs. “They always sound so charming at first, so devoted. And then the next thing you know, they've moved on to a prettier model, or steal your last shilling, or leave you high and dry.” It's almost enough to make one take up women, she thinks.

Allison smiles and kisses Nellie on the forehead. “You'll find someone. And if you don't?” she shrugs and gestures towards her empty bed. “That's just as well. Come on, it's late—I'll get you the spare blanket for the couch. Though I must ask—do you hold a candle for this Henry fellow I've heard so much about?” 

Nellie swats at her sister's pantomime kisses. “I wasn't lying before—I don't fancy Henry in the slightest. He may be better than Dennis, but that doesn't mean he's the man for me.”

Allison grins. “I think you know him too well.” She feigns a swoon. “He can't possibly live up to your dream gent.”

“Hush,” Nellie says. “You're dreadful. Weren't you just saying that I should be willing to wait?”

“There's waiting, and there's being blind,” Allison retorts. “I don't know that he's your one true love, but I don't want you to let him get away if he is.”

Nellie yawns and takes the blanket. “I'll think about it when I'm more awake. Good night, big sis.”

“Good night.”

***

“It seems a silly thing to break into a fellow's home over,” Jenny notes as Jones walks away. “But if he can bet on football matches perfectly, who knows what else he's capable of?” Vastra screens her as she produces her lockpicks. “And if he is, I hate to think what happens when he gets bored of football.” Jenny winks as the door pops open and the two women duck into the empty flat.

“This must be what I heard,” Vastra says, walking over to a strange machine on a desk. “It appears to be an extremely primitive computing engine.” She sits and peers more closely at it. “Too primitive by far,” she scoffs. “Even the most advanced Silurian computers could not calculate the winner of a sporting match as frequently as Mr. Jones has evidently done. This toy could not come close.”

“Madame?” Jenny looks over from a bookshelf.

“And there is no other trace of alien or futuristic technology in this apartment.” Vastra frowns.

“Madame?” She holds a small book in her hands.

“And there was no indication of telepathy or other heightened ability,” Vastra continues.

“Madame!” Jenny, at her wits' end, dangles her prize in front of Vastra's face. “Amateur and professional sport results from 1875 to 1900.” Analysis is all well and good, Jenny thinks. But sometimes there's no substitute for simply looking around a room. 

“Oh, Jenny, that is quite good.” Vastra's eyes suddenly widen as the sound of approaching footsteps reaches her ears. They scamper off into a side room just as the door opens. 

“Where's my brolly?” Jones asks rhetorically. “Never can find the blasted thing when I want it...” As he steps further into the room, Jenny and Vastra spring out from their hiding place, surrounding him.

“No use denying it now,” Jenny says, cradling her trophy. “We've found your secret and no mistake.” She beams.

Jones's eyes widen and he tries to flee only for Vastra to sit him down forcefully. “Now, Mr. Jones,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest, “the truth.”

He sighs, and loosens his tie. “Well, for starters, my name is Donald Carpenter.” His voice now has a decidedly American accent. “You probably won't believe my story—I wouldn't.”

Vastra's smile is predatory. “You would be surprised, Mr. Carpenter.”

Carpenter shrugs. “I won't be born for another fifty or sixty years, for starters. I'm a criminal from the 1980s, not the 1880s.” Neither Jenny nor Vastra flinch at this news. “I hijacked an airplane—it's a big metal—”

“We know what an airplane is,” Jenny interrupts him.

Carpenter's eyes bulge, but he keeps talking. “I told them to fill a suitcase with cash, and then I was going to jump out using a parachute. I assume you know what that is?” He laughs the laugh of the condemned as Vastra and Jenny merely nod. “Thought I was real smart. Turns out they got the jump on me, but I've had the last laugh. They filled the suitcase with books to weigh it down—it wasn't like I could check it and keep my gun trained on them. So I jumped out of the plane with a bag full of books. And that isn't even the weird bit.” He looks from one woman to the other. “There was a great flash of light and a boom—I thought there was a thunderstorm at first. And then I was surrounded by light—thought I'd died and gone to heaven. Instead, the next time I opened my eyes, I was in the Natural History Museum. That was two months ago.” He grins. “At first I was so mad that I'd been had so easily. Then I looked at the books. Most of them were trashy romances and cheap thrillers, barely worth the paper they were printed on.” He shrugs. “Helped keep me warm on a cold night. And then I found my salvation. That book brought me out of the gutters.” He smiles fondly at the memory. 

“And what about the computer?”

He points at the cover of the book. “Meal ticket is going to expire one of these days, and this place might burn down or get burgled. You've always got to have an escape plan. I'm not an idiot. Took a few courses on computers in college, figured that between what I could get here and what I could scavenge from the electronics in my pocket, I could put together something basic that would give me an edge if I went into business.” He sighs. “You're going to take it all away from me, aren't you?”

“What about the dictionaries?” Jenny prods.

“What?” His eyes go blank.

“Someone—probably someone who can travel in time—has been altering dictionaries. Possibly for their benefit, but perhaps simply as a prank.” Vastra's stare kills any chance of a laugh from Carpenter.

“That's—that's ridiculous. What an extravagant plot!”

“Well, yes,” Jenny admits. That outburst seemed a bit too sincere to be self-deprecating, she thinks.

“Look, I can't travel in time. If I could, I'd go back home.” Now it's his turn to cross his arms over his chest. “If I'd planned this, I'd have brought more than just one table of sports scores to bet on, right?”

Vastra and Jenny exchange looks. “He does have a point, madame.”

“Very well—the book and the computing device we will take, but your ill-gotten gains you may keep.” Vastra's eyes twinkle. “I doubt there is any honor among thieves, regardless of how they pick your pocket. Based on what Mr. Venters told us, you should have enough to start in a business of more social utility than collecting wagers. We shall keep an eye on you in case your plans include any further meddling.” She turn to Jenny. “Come, my dear. Speaking of Mr. Venters, I believe we have a fee to collect.”

***

“Nellie, would you show Strax to the vault?” The girl nods and leads the Sontaran, Carpenter's computer in his arms, down into the bowels of their manor. Vastra turns her attention to Henry. “It may interest you to know what Carpenter's secret was.” She tosses him the book.

“He did peek at the deck,” he breathes. “What did you do with him?”

“Let him go,” Jenny says. “Do you want to go into business with him?”

Henry shrugs. “It was fun, placing bets and watching football, for a little while. And it was something my brothers could identify with, something I could brag about—hell, something I could talk about with them. Reckon it would have gotten boring, though. But it was good money.”

“An entirely natural desire,” Vastra notes. “One should not have to work oneself to death to get by. And I understand entirely the desire to prove oneself to one's siblings.”

“It can get addicting, though.” Jenny says, eyes on the fire. “The gambling...even just making money. Chasing every shilling, every last penny, till you don't see anything else.” She turns to Henry. “You want to go back to it? Take the book and get back into making safe bets? We won't stop you.”

Henry turns the book over in his hands, then throws it into the fire. “More fun helping you two solve crimes, any day. Can't buy the things we've done.” Vastra and Jenny exchange proud looks.

“I hope you find that you have made the correct decision,” Vastra says. 

“I know you have,” Jenny says. She stretches. “Care for a round in the practice rooms?”

“Certainly,” Vastra replies, and moments later they are facing each other, wooden swords in hand.

***

“What's the matter, little brother?” Bert asks.

“Yeah, you look like your best girl left you. Not that you've got a best girl,” Moses says with a sly wink. Henry pops him on the arm. “Never mind, then.”

“Job didn't turn out to be what I thought it was,” Henry says suddenly.

“Did he proposition you?” Bert asks. Would explain the lavish pay, he thinks.

“God, no,” Henry says with a laugh. “He just wasn't honest about it,” he adds carefully.

“Is he still hiring, then?” Moses asks with a grin.

“No,” Henry says. “He's given up gambling.”

“This anything to do with your old detective friends?” Bert asks.

“They're still my friends, and you're still my brothers,” Henry replies, carefully dodging the question. It wasn't in him to lie, especially not to the only family he had. But was it in him to keep things to himself? Oh yes.

***

“You know, madame,” Jenny allows between blows, “I'm just as glad we never wagered on our practice fights.”

“Because of your uncle?” Vastra queries, launching a riposte. “Or because I would have beaten you so frequently during our early sessions?”

“Both good guesses, madame,” Jenny replies breathlessly. They like to talk when they train, so that if they need to say anything while fighting when it matters, their lungs are trained for the extra exertion. And besides, Jenny thinks, they get few enough private moments as it is. “But both wrong,” she continues, pivoting off her back foot and rolling away to disengage and attack afresh.

“Such hidden depths,” Vastra marvels, parrying like mad. “What, then?”

“It just seems like such an artificial way to add excitement to something already so thrilling,” Jenny concludes, finally scoring a touch. “And I don't want money to come between us.” 

“Who says we have to wager with anything so vulgar as money?” Vastra asks, drawing Jenny in for a kiss.

“Well, perhaps we could experiment along those lines,” Jenny says, face flushed from exertion and emotion. 

“Perhaps indeed,” Vastra allows. “But for now, bed, I think, and tomorrow we have a lead to pursue.”

“Shall I make arrangements to visit the Natural History Museum, then, madame?”

“Yes, I think so, Jenny.” Vastra grins. “Off on another adventure.”

**Author's Note:**

> The first professional football (soccer) league started in 1888, so this would be very up-to-date.
> 
> Some brief notes on inflation: as far as I can tell, one pound in the late 19th century would be worth over a hundred today. So for American readers, when Jones/Carpenter gives Henry a pound, imagine him getting a hundred dollar bill as a tip.
> 
> What we know today as the Oxford English Dictionary was just getting published starting in 1884, though it would not gain that name until 1895.
> 
> The character of Donald Carpenter is based on D.B. Cooper, who hijacked a plane in 1971, parachuted out of it with over $200K in cash, and was never seen again.


End file.
